


But Life's No Storybook

by jusrecht



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Genderbending, Girl!Dino
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-18
Updated: 2010-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diana was not a sentimental woman. A mafia boss could not afford to be sentimental, even more so if she was a woman leading five thousands men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Life's No Storybook

Diana was not a sentimental woman. A mafia boss could not afford to be sentimental, even more so if she was a woman leading five thousands men, most of whom still cleaving to traditional values and all things conventional. If her steps faltered before a glass window displaying a striking white-gold wedding gown, then it had nothing to do with the fact that she was a woman. A beautiful thing deserved to be admired, and she slowed down, smiling at the white laces, milky pearls, and gold delicate trimmings. It was beautiful.  
  
Kyouya noticed this and scoffed at the perceived feminine weakness. Normally, she would have taken it in stride and laughed it off. Normally, she would make a joke out of it and drag him into the labyrinth of her words somehow, only for the sake of a laugh.  
  
But not today.   
  
“Don’t worry,” she spat instead, her voice low enough to be a threat, “I’m not going to wear anything like that, even for you.”  
  
She didn’t wait for her lover’s response and simply strode off, followed by her nervous subordinates. Diana still pretended that nothing had happened when Kyouya’s tonfas chased her whip four hours later, in the vast garden of the Cavallone estate.  
  
“What does that mean,” he growled between exchanged blows.   
  
“What does _that_ mean, Kyouya?” she retaliated.  
  
“Don’t fuck with me, Cavallone.”  
  
“I already did, you know.”  
  
He snarled and lunged at her, throwing his full weight. The change of tactics caught her off-guard, but Diana would not relinquish her whip, spurred by her own frenzied emotions. She still fought him when he pinned her to the grass, his leg between her thighs.  
  
“Damn you,” she hissed but her back arched to meet the pleasant pressure he was giving her. Kyouya’s smirk bloomed slowly, like night. He had taken her at worse places and she had opened her legs in worse circumstances, but it still did not stop Diana from hating herself for giving in so easily. At least neither of them could last long during this sort of encounter. It was a quick work of divesting her of her lower garments and a couple of quick thrusts. All too soon, she tightened the clamp of her legs around his hips but made no sound when she came, almost as silent as he.  
  
She was always conscious of the heat of Kyouya’s breath on the side of her neck afterwards. Sometimes it was the only thing that could still convince her that he was human—but then he moved away and it was gone.  
  
“Everything is power play for you, isn’t it?” she murmured ruefully, staring at the empty blue sky.  
  
“What does that mean.”  
  
Diana sighed in irritation, knowing it was still the same question. “Exactly what I said. I’m not going to wear a wedding gown.”  
  
“Even for me.”  
  
She laughed; the bitterness of the sound nearly made her cringe. “Someone selfish like you, of course it would be the only part you remembered. I shouldn’t be surprised.”  
  
His narrow gaze was cold, remorseless, and Diana returned it in kind—or at least tried to. It was like holding a staring match with a painting. No matter how beautiful, how life-like, a painting did not reciprocate. It made her wish, deeply, fervently, that she did not love Kyouya so much, this cloud that would never bind himself in anything, matrimony even less. The world would have burned and turned into hell first before he could be pressured into a binding.  
  
Rising to her feet, she heaved a deep breath and shrugged the thought as easily as she did her blouse. “I’m not going to wear a wedding gown,” she repeated, gathering her discarded clothes and whip, “and that’s all there is. Interpret it as you will.”  
  
Kyouya said nothing, eyes not even on her, and she left, tight-lipped and sullen. Diana still remembered the novels and comic books she had often read when she had been but a hopeful teenage girl, and these scenes of fathers who told their daughters about the bride they would be one day. It was, the books said, the hardest day for all fathers, to give their daughter away to another man under something as slight as a promise to make her happy.  
  
But she was Diana Cavallone and her father was dead and the other man who should have promised to make her happy cared very little about her happiness. 

  
**_End_ **   
  



End file.
